


He Used to Grow Roses

by triaux



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Memoirs, Memories, Minor Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Poetic, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:39:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8214610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triaux/pseuds/triaux
Summary: Occasionally, he picked a few to put in a vase by his window, though part of him was always a bit afraid of being pricked by the thorns on the stems. He didn't want his little rose bush to hurt him.





	

He used to grow roses. They were pink.    
When he was young, he planted a small bush and waited for it to grow. It grew in the direction of the sun, leaves reaching up, striving for the warm light. He watered it often, and checked every morning to see if the new buds had yet bloomed into sweet smelling flowers.

Occasionally, he picked a few to put in a vase by his window, though part of him was always a bit afraid of being pricked by the thorns on the stems. He didn't want his little rose bush to hurt him. So he would carefully navigate around the sharp points, and clip the deceivingly delicate flowers so he could cherish them for a few days before they wilted away. Then, there were always more roses to pick. Memories were wrapped up in this time, fond ones but a little sadness mixed in.   
  
Recently, he received a rose from a stranger while walking down the street. He hardly knew what was going on as a well dressed man approached and handed him a single pink flower with a long stem. He reached out to take it without thinking, and grasped onto thorns. He had expected the stem to be smooth and benign, but the thorns sent blood running down his hand, like red veins. He looked around but the man had gone, and he was left on a busy sidewalk with memories of his rose bush flooding back to him.

  
But he wasn't afraid of being hurt anymore. He had reached out without fear to find that the danger was not as bad as it had once seemed. It looked more painful than it had actually turned out to be. He wiped the blood off his hand and continued on his way.   
  
A part of him wanted to destroy the perfect flower. To shred it's petals and tear it’s stem apart for hurting him, though he chose not to. When he got home, he laid it down and admired it's simple beauty, then walked away. Will is not afraid of thorns anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you as always :)


End file.
